


find a way out of myself again

by mozartspiano



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Asexual Character, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 23:07:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8641840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mozartspiano/pseuds/mozartspiano
Summary: harry can't go home so he makes a new one. AU set in montreal, canada.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is for the glorious [I Used to Be a Baker FicFest](http://iusedtobeabaker-fic.tumblr.com/)! major thank you to kate for not only being my mod-in-crime but also for reading this and having nice things to say!! 
> 
> title from bleacher's take me away ft. grimes. 
> 
> dubious consent is in reference to a scene where a character is initially okay with a situation (with an OC), but then becomes uncomfortable. said character leaves the situation safely. also, just generally, there's quite a lot of sexy scenes. so like. be aware of that before delving in!!

The sun is just rising over the city as Harry jogs across the Mont-Royal courtyard. The bottom of his sneakers are coming loose and they flap out like tongues as he crosses to the barrier, whacking against the pavement in a familiar rhythm. 

Liam's leaning against the barrier, looking out across the sleepy city. He looks up when Harry meets him. "You're late."

"Couldn't find my other shoe."

Liam smiles at him, knocks their hips together. Harry takes a sip of water. He leans against the cool stone and breathes in the sharp air of his adopted city. It smells different here. 

"How was the pub crawl?" Harry asks after a minute, eyes still on the glowing horizon. 

"Andy got fucking wasted," Liam says, smile in his voice. "And Sophia wanted to go to that new karaoke place on Saint-Denis, so we had to trek all the way up there. It was hell waking up this morning, man."

"I can imagine."

"Hey, you busy tonight?"

It's not the first time Liam's asked. Since Harry first met him back in March, when the snow finally melted enough to lace up his sneakers, Liam's been asking routinely for a hangout session that doesn't involve old gym shorts and profuse sweating. 

This is the first time Harry's not had a major exam in a few days though. "Sure. What'd you have in mind?"

"Friend's having a Smash tournament at theirs," Liam says, wiping a bit of sweat off his forehead. It's getting hotter as the sun warms the air. "They're super chill. Live in the Plateau."

"Sounds fun." 

"Text you the details?"

"Mm." Harry stretches his arms up over his head. "Race you to the bottom?"

Liam wins, as per. 

They go to the Tim Hortons on University for a drink afterwards, sitting in a booth at the back with coffees and Timbits. Liam likes the chocolate and jelly-filled ones and Harry likes the sour cream glazed and the honey dip. They're a perfect pair. 

After an almost heated argument over the Canadiens, they recycle their cups. Liam sets off down Sherbrooke to Atwater while Harry goes North, jogging by early morning commuters. 

The streets are quiet as he winds his way home, ducking his head at low hung branches, dripping with healthy green. It's starting to get humid as six thirty becomes seven, and Harry misses his mother's house on the coast so much it hurts for a second. And then he spots a little dog walking a woman and he forgets all about it. 

Matty's still in bed when Harry slides through the front door. He's quiet shutting it, taking off his sneakers near the door and padding softly in his socks to the kitchenette. Harry can never eat right when he wakes up, but after a run he's ravenous. He spreads Nutella over a slice of bread and pours himself a glass of milk. 

Harry lays across their futon with his food and slides open Matty's laptop. His own is still in the bedroom somewhere, and he doesn't want to wake Matty trying to get it, so he looks up Netflix with one hand while munching on his bread with the other. 

_John Mulaney: The Comeback Kid_ starts up with the familiar bit with the dog, Petunia. Harry cranes his neck to see through the small, open window above his head. The sun's up now, shining brightly in the blue haze of the morning. 

Montreal is awake and Harry's free for the summer. 

*

Liam's friend's place is on the second floor of a little white house with red window frames. It's sandwiched in between two big brick townhouses. There are three bikes locked to the wrought iron fence; one of them has a sweet wicker basket hanging off the front. 

Harry climbs the metal frame staircase up to the second story, where a white wooden front door stands under a golden _4598_. Liam's already texted that he's here, and that the doorbell's busted so he should _just knock_. With a look around to the cool summer dusk of the street behind him, Harry does. 

A loud yell comes from inside: "It's open!" Harry opens the door.

The first thing he sees is a boy. He's a long line of back that turns at Harry's entrance, friendly smile on his face. 

"Hey," he says. He looks like the kind of guy who scratches at his jaw a lot. "Harry, right? I'm Zayn."

Harry smiles. Above Zayn is a row of tacky red tinsel, interspersed with red solo cups on a string. It dangles all festive, as if put there for Christmas. Just past Zayn is a white fridge covered with bright magnets, and just beyond that is a wooden table full of boys. The whole place smells like weed. 

Crooking his finger down the back near his heel, Harry slides his boots off. He walks across the welcome mat and it crunches white with street salt from the winter, gritty and hard and blurry round the edges like Gemma's bath bombs. Zayn in the doorway moves to let Harry step in next to him. 

"Harry!"

"Hey Liam," Harry says, smiling. There's another boy at the table with him. His eyes are red, his smile loopy, and there's a crooked joint in his left hand. 

"Everyone, this is Harry," Liam says, waving a hand around like the Queen of England. "Harry, this is Louis, Zayn and-" he juts his chin out to the right, "-that's Niall."

Harry ducks his head around to see a boy smiling at him from a frying pan full of bacon. He's got freckles across his nose and bright eyes that run all the way down to Harry's socked feet and back up to his face. When their eyes meet again, Niall's smile is sharper. 

"Hey," Niall says, flipping the bacon and jostling the pan. "Glad you could make it."

Louis interrupts with a hacking cough - "Fuck, Ni, you have anymore of those Fisherman's Friends?"

"In the bathroom."

"Can't get rid of this fucking cough." Louis stands up from the table. "And I know, Liam, I know - I need to stop smoking."

"I wasn't going to say that!"

"Like fuck you weren't. Hypocrite."

Louis sidles past Harry and Zayn. He tiptoes over the salted hallway and steps into the bathroom. Zayn takes his spot at the table, flicking a lighter around in his fingers. 

"There's a bit left if you want some?" It takes Harry a second to realize he's being spoken to.

"I'm okay," he says. "Thanks, though."

"A drink?" Niall asks. He's ripping off paper towel from a roll next to a toaster oven. He folds it over a chipped plate and drops the bacon on it, patting off the excess grease. 

"Um."

"Let me get you a drink," Niall says, a glint in his eye. "You'll never laugh at any of my jokes if you're sober."

Harry laughs and steps into the kitchen. He leans against the counter, watches Niall finish up the bacon. "I'll have a beer I guess. Thanks."

Niall brushes past him on the way to the fridge, comes back with a bottle. He does a neat little bro trick against the counter to get the cap off, just like Jake used to do in the kitchen of the hotel back in Tofino. Niall presents the bottle with a wide smile. 

Harry lets their fingers brush together before he takes a sip. There's a tight nervousness around Niall's lashes, and it makes his sharp grin feel good to bask in. 

"Toilet's making that weird noise again," Louis says upon his return. "Is the bacon done? Are we ready?"

"No thanks to you, yeah."

"I opened the package." Harry turns to see Louis looking curiously at the full bun at the back of Harry's head. He looks away when their eyes catch each other. "Only space for four controllers, if you don't mind sitting out the first round." 

Harry smiles. "I'm shit at video games, I just came for the bacon."

Niall laughs behind him. Louis gives him a little chewed out smile. 

As Zayn and Louis fuck around with cords, Harry sets himself up on the futon between Liam and Niall. The living room is carpeted and covered in chip crumbs and oddly shaped stains. Their futon is lumpy, but they've got one of those big wicker chairs that are comfy as fuck in the corner. There's a bong on the little coffee table next to a copy of Ulysses. 

"Where are you from?"

Harry turns to see Niall smiling at him. He's slipped on a snapback and it makes him look like every hot asshole at every party. His smile is cute though. 

"BC," Harry says, fiddling with the ring on his finger. 

"Nice," Niall says, eyes lit up with interest. "You near the mountains? I went to Jasper a couple years ago, it's fucking beautiful there."

"Coast, actually. Tofino - it's on Vancouver Island?"

"That's sick." Niall takes a drink from his beer. He's got moles down his neck. "You study at Concordia, too?"

"McGill."

"Booooo," Louis says as he drops down into the spot next to Niall. His movement knocks Niall's shoulder against Harry's. "Fuck McGill."

"Don't mind him," Niall says, leaving his arm against Harry's. "He's still bitter about the hockey quarterfinals."

"We were robbed Nialler-"

"Yeah, yeah."

Harry nibbles on bacon while the boys play. Zayn wins most of the games from his spot on the floor. Louis keeps reaching around Harry to fuck around with Liam's controller, which doesn't do much but is entertaining to watch. Niall laughs in Harry's ear and it's the brightest noise Harry's heard in ages. 

When Liam has to take a piss he slides his controller into Harry's lap. Harry plays as Kirby and spends half the game floating around. 

"Violence is not the answer," Harry says as he floats past Louis' Meta Knight.

It's almost ten when they pause the game to get more beer. Louis and Liam put their shoes on at the door, sliding their wallets into their back pockets. 

"Bring me back some rolling paper," Zayn says. He's laid out along the carpet, eyes closed. "I'm almost out."

"Sure. Do you need anything, Harry?"

Harry shakes his head at Liam's earnest smile. "Thanks, though."

They leave together and as the door closes Louis shouts something that makes Liam cackle.

"So," Niall says, turning his body to face Harry's. "A McGill boy, eh?" 

"English Lit." Harry shifts, moves his foot underneath him. "And I know what they say about us, but we're not all snobs. Promise."

"Nah," Niall says. "Only half of you."

He winks. Harry can't help but laugh. 

"Are you staying the whole summer?" Niall asks after a second of silence. They're both watching Zayn now as he snoozes on the floor. Harry wonders if his nose hairs are as pretty as the rest of him. 

"Yep," Harry says. He doesn't say anymore. Doesn't think about how it'll be his first summer without a beach bonfire and turning down the linen at his mom's inn for pocket money. 

"Cool," Niall says. "Think we have Tostitos in the cupboard. Wanna make nachos?"

"Mm, yes please."

Harry grates cheese while Niall cuts up an under-ripe avocado and smashes it with a fork. The whole apartment feels so quiet while they work, except for the open window next to the kitchen table, which drifts in honks and hollers of drunken men. Together they layer and layer a plate until they're left with a mountain of cheese and chip. 

Harry learns that Niall is from Toronto and grew up in a tiny house in Cabbagetown. He can say about twelve words in French and if Harry listens closely he can hear an accent poke through Niall's words, a relic, he says, from his Irish grandfather. 

Liam and Louis return from the _depanneur_ with beer and All-Dressed chips, shouting at each other in what seems to be their nature. Liam's the same wherever he goes, which is something that makes Harry warm. The nachos help soften Louis' smile too. 

It's late when Liam decides to head out for the night. Harry stands with him, moving to put his boots on.

"Don't forget pub trivia at McKibbins on Tuesday," Louis says as they all stand around the front door. "We're finally going to beat those dicks from UQAM. You can come too, Harry, we need all the help we can get."

Harry nods. "I'll be there."

As they're leaving, Niall grabs Harry's elbow. He turns to see a wide smile across Niall's face.

"Hey," he says, all casual. "You got a phone?"

Harry bites his lip to hold in his smile. "Uh huh."

Niall slides his own out of his back pocket. "You'd better give me your number then. You know, in case I have any questions about McGill's English literature program. Or if I wanted to take you out for dinner."

Red flushes down to Harry's toes. "Well if you insist."

"I do," Niall says, handing over his phone. The New Contact page is already open. "I really do."

*

Harry wakes the next morning to Matty's hair in his mouth. 

Through the busted blinds and wrought iron fire escape window, Harry can just see the late morning sun blinding its way across the blue-grey expanse of Montreal sky. Matty is hot and sticky against Harry's left side, his morning wood pressing into Harry's knee. 

Matty drools. Harry snores. They're a good pair. 

Throwing a hand out to the floor, Harry snatches his phone off of hardwood and dust bunnies. It's dark, dimmed for late night scrolling, and he increases the brightness for a nice jolt in the stomach: _Niall, iMessage (3)_

_I'm watching that new Netflix documentary on surfing and they keep talking about that place you're from_  
Tofino right?  
Good mornign btw :) 

The texts are from two hours ago. Harry likes people who get up early. 

_that is my town haha but I can't surf for shit  
good morning :)_

He sends it. Three little dots appear a second later. Harry can't help his smile. 

"Morning."

Harry turns to see Matty blinking one bleary eye. "Morning, sleepyhead. You were out late last night."

"Mm." Matty puts his nose right into Harry's collarbone and snuffles a few times. He's always stuffy in the morning. "You should have come with. Jonesy brought the best brownies I've had since I moved out here, and Phoebe's friend Lyla was there. She's into your poetry shit too, man." 

"Maybe next time."

"Meeting up with Grimmy today, going to that burger place with the big red ball in Côte-des-Neiges. Wanna come with?"

Harry tips his head back to see the window past Matty's mess of curls. There's a robin on the fire escape. It's a world away from the long-beaked sandpipers his mum used to point out when they walked along the beach, their hands swinging together, barefoot and happy. 

"H?"

"Sure," Harry says. He uses his free hand to flick a sleepy out of his eye. "I'll come with."

Matty's satisfied, relaxing back into his shoulder. "I need a fucking shower."

"I met someone last night."

"Oh yeah?"

Harry bites at his top lip, pulling at the skin there. It pulls just a bit far and he soothes the sting with his tongue. Matty doesn't know everything about him, but he's picked up on some traits over the last ten months. Namely, how Harry doesn't bring people home all that often. Or at all. 

"His name's Niall."

"Sick." 

Harry smiles. He looks at his phone, sees Niall's messaged back. He holds his breath, looks away. Wants to see how long he can hold in the urge. 

He lasts as long as it takes for Matty to grumble his way up and into their shower:

_I'm sure you're not that bad !!  
Sleep well?_

*

McKibbons is like every student bar Harry frequented during frosh week a million years ago. He never came down this far though; the Concordia lot prefer Crescent, but he usually goes up to St. Laurent with Matty to drink with beatnik musicians and vegan bohemians. There's more pubs here, more friendly chatter and warm smiles. 

A patio of tables along the street in front of the bar is filled with gangs of chattering, bright-eyed girls in overalls and flowered skirts. Harry doesn't see Niall's bleach blond top anywhere, so he ventures in, ducking a banner of sparkly shamrocks and skating around a pint-carrying bartender. 

"Styles!" Harry turns to see Liam waving one big hand. He's with Niall at a table in the corner, empty glasses between them. 

"Hi," Harry says as he reaches the table. "Sorry I'm late."

"At least you came. Zayn stayed home." As Liam speaks, Niall scoots over in the booth. Harry sits down and the leather is warm against his thighs. "Hope you brought your a-game. We're always a bit shit without Zayn."

"Is there a section on 18th century poets? That's the extent of my repertoire." 

"We're doomed."

Liam's girlfriend appears then. Harry's only met her once for a short period, but her smile is the same as in every profile picture Liam has outside of fishing pictures with his dad. They're proper high school sweethearts. Harry hopes they do better than every other high school couple he knows. 

"Line for the ladies was insane," Sophia says, sitting down as Liam makes room for her. "Hey Harry! Liam said you were coming." 

"Well, when you say trivia you say Harry."

She laughs in a snort and Liam looks at her like she's the Queen. 

"I like your shirt," Niall says, real close to his ear. Harry meets his eye and sees that same glint from the other night. "I don't know the group though."

"It's my roommate's band." Harry looks down at his shirt and the living room patchwork shirt he has on. The words _The 1975_ are written with black sharpie over printed pictures of roses. "They're really good. Right now they're just playing in people's apartments and clubs but they might be doing an EP soon."

Niall's eyes have gone a bit wide, dipping down to look at Harry's mouth. Harry feels himself flush.

"They're playing a show tonight actually. I'm going, after this."

"Sick. Where are they playing?"

"The room upstairs at Lola Rosas? It's in the McGill Ghetto."

"Is that where you live then?"

"Mhm. Sainte Famille."

"Sick." Niall takes a sip of his pint and then grins. "You don't have a drink yet. Let me get you one, what do you want?"

"Oh you don't have to-"

"I want to," Niall says, squinting at the front of the bar, where a large television is playing the Jays game. "Archie at the bar does a fucking stellar Manhattan if you're feeling fancy. Or a beer? Lou will want to get a pitcher but-"

"I'll just have a cider, I guess?"

"A cider?" Niall's whole face wrinkles, like Harry's a lemon he accidentally stuck in his mouth. Harry laughs and laughs, making Sophia look up from her whispers with Liam. 

"Are you going up to the bar, Ni?"

"Yeah, you want anything?" Harry stands to let Niall out of the booth, smiling when Niall touches his arm with two fingers. 

"I know you're all aggressively masculine figures and you need to reassert that with liberal beer drinking," Sophia starts, exactly the Simone de Beauvoir major that Harry was delighted with the first time he met her. "But would a sangria pitcher really be the end of the world? Would it really shatter your fragile masculinity?" 

Liam's face says yes.

"One day you'll convince us, Soph," Niall says, before putting a hand on the curve of Harry's waist. "You want the cider on tap?"

"Yes please."

Harry is careful not to watch Niall walk away, sliding back into the booth instead. There's a ring of condensation along the wood and Harry drags a finger through it, turning it into an N. 

"He's sweet isn't he?" When Harry looks over Sophie's face is far too knowing. 

"Yeah."

"He asked for Harry's number the other night," Liam says, all fake-coy. His eyes are bright and shiny. Harry gets the impression that Liam and Sophie spend many a night discussing their friends' relationship statuses. "Louis says Niall didn't put his phone down the whole time they were shopping today."

"We're just talking."

"Talking a _lot_."

Harry twists his mouth up, looks away from Liam's earnest face. Niall's leaned against the bar, chatting with the guy on his left, eyes on the Jays game. His cheeks are ruddy and his shoes are clean. 

Sophia and Liam are still smiling at him when he takes his eyes off Niall. "Stop looking at me like that!"

"We're not looking at you like anything," they say, all creepy twins. Harry pelts Liam with a peanut. Liam squawks like an angry budgie and reaches over to flick Harry on the forehead. Sophia scrolls through Instagram. 

Louis finds his way to the table just as the pub quiz is about to start. He shimmies himself right in on Harry's side but keeps a sharp eye on him, like he's not ready to give himself over to Harry's smile just yet. 

It's okay. Harry's had to work for it before. 

The cider Niall bought him fizzes next to Harry's elbow. It's sweet and bubbly like Niall's smile; the cool condensation on the glass brings goosebumps to Harry's skin like Niall's laugh against his ear. 

They come in third using a combination of Louis' unparalleled knowledge of British football and Sophia's binge-watching of _Charmed_. The assholes from UQAM come in second after the "Quizzard Queens", so Louis' pretty happy. 

"Shots!" Louis shouts approximately forty-five seconds after the quiz is all cleared up. 

"Louis, man, my kidneys haven't recovered from last night," Liam says, taking a sip of his beer. 

"Oh give your magical kidney talk a fucking break, would you? Sophia, you in?"

Sophia's eyebrows raise, her smile turning wicked. 

Liam groans. "Babe, no."

Louis smacks the table, grin sharp. "Let's go, my lady."

They trail away to the bar that's become busier now that the quizzing is through. Liam grumbles into his hands but goes after them. Niall grins and tips Harry a wink.

"Charming group, eh?"

"Liam has magical kidneys?"

"Yeah, he traded his donkey for them."

Harry presses a hand against his giggles, turning away to look at the table. He feels Niall's eyes on the side of his face and flushes. It's been awhile. 

"I think we're going back to ours after this," Niall says. "Wanna come with?"

Harry lets himself imagine going back to Niall's, watching Louis shout until Zayn comes stumbling out of his room. They'd pack the bong and Harry would take a hit and then spend the next twelve minutes coughing. Then maybe, after, maybe if he was lucky Niall would kiss him sweetly in the dark kitchen. Maybe they would hold hands. 

"I can't," Harry says, dragging his finger over the wet, sticky table. "Got Matty's gig."

"Ah, that's right."

Overhead the Jays hit a homerun. The bar cheers and Niall cranes his neck to get a better look. 

"You could come," Harry says, after things have calmed down. "If you wanted. I mean, if you want to watch the band. They're pretty good." 

Harry chances a glance over to Niall. The top of his cheeks are pink, his smile sweet. His voice is deep when he says: "Sounds good." 

*

Matty waves from stage when Harry and Niall sneak into the back of Lola Rosas halfway through their set. He's on a stool with a guitar, every part the indie rocker with his big curly hair and painted nails. From behind Matty, George gives Harry the same stoner wink he's been giving him since they met a year ago. 

"They're good," Niall says, after they've been there for a little bit.

"Glad you like them," Harry says, only half listening to the music. Niall's gone from casual knocking hips to slinging his arm around Harry's waist to rubbing his thumb back and forth over the cotton over Harry's ribs. It makes the room warmer, the air sort of soft and sparkly but hot, thick in Harry's lungs. 

The room is small but dark and filled. Niall leans in close to Harry's ear to speak: "Can I walk you home after this?"

He does. The streetlights make shadow puppets in Niall's hair, dancing in the quiet. They pass the cinema, dodging couples and French teenagers smoking against bixi bikes. It's Tuesday, which explains the crowds. 

"There's only one movie theatre in Tofino," Harry says, quiet so Niall can only hear if he's listening carefully. "They played old movies on Thursday nights." 

"Oh yeah?" Niall's hand goes to Harry's elbow, maneuvers him around a smashed beer bottle. "What's your favourite?"

"I like _Sabrina_."

"My mom made us watch _Singin' in the Rain_ every Sunday afternoon, when the weather was too shit to go outside. Greg always fell asleep twenty minutes in." 

"Your brother?"

"Mm. He spent a summer working at a street-meat stand outside the Museum. Now he does IT for this company in Markham." 

The streetlight is on over Harry's front door. Niall walks him all the way up to it, even though they could have said their goodbyes on the sidewalk. It makes something warm inside Harry's chest, like the few weak rays of sunlight after a stormy Sunday. 

"Gosh," Niall says, eyes flicking around Harry's face. "You look like an angel. With the like - with the light behind you."

"Thank you."

Niall takes a mini step forward. "You're so pretty, Harry."

Harry lets himself be kissed. It's really lovely, like Niall, warm and soft. Niall's lips are spit wet and his hands are sure when one slides around Harry's wrist, the other to the side of his neck. An exhale of warm air brushes against Harry's nose and it tickles him into a giggle.

"Stop laughing," Niall whispers, then brushes his smile against Harry's again. God he's so handsome and smooth. Harry thinks about never leaving this spot ever again, just kissing Niall under the darkened sky until dawn falls and the joggers start their first run. 

"Text me when you get home?"

"Okay," Niall smiles, brushing his thumb across Harry's cheek. "Good night, Harry."

Harry waits for Niall to leave his sight before he locks the front door behind him. It's hard to convince his legs up the stairs when they want to sink to the floor and rest for a bit, but he gets them going eventually, up two flights and in through his and Matty's flat. 

His pillow is soft under his face and it doesn't say anything when he smiles into it for six minutes. 

*

Grimmy's halfway through a cigarette and an anecdote about his puppy when Harry's phone rings loud on the table between them. 

"Mom," Harry says into it, blushing when Grimmy mouths _aw_. "How are you?"

"I miss you darling," she says, voice all soft and professional, like she's behind the front desk at the inn. "One of the guests has a little boy who wanders around in his Spiderman pajamas and I couldn't help but think of you."

"Those were ace."

"Are you well? You know how much I worry about you."

"Mhm." Harry watches Nick people-watch, lounging back in his plastic patio chair with a nub of nicotine between his fingers. "Matty and I found a coffee table for free on the curb near our place yesterday. So we, um, have a coffee table now."

"Lovely."

"How's Gem?"

"I think the internship is doing her some good," Anne says. "So far away though, in Boston. Lost both my babies to the East coast."

If Harry closed his eyes he could imagine the soft crash of waves against the beach just outside the inn, the quiet tinkle of utensils in the dining room. He keeps them open. 

"You're coming back for Kailey's wedding still, aren't you?"

The thought of not going back to Tofino makes Harry's head hurt. The thought of going back makes him want to throw up.

"I'm not sure yet," Harry says, turning his face down. Across the table, Grimmy gives him a little look, all wobbly eyed and concerned. "I, um, still want to find a job here. And plane tickets are expensive."

"Oh." Harry closes his eyes, hears the waves, tries not to picture his mom's face. "Well let me know, darling. I'd love to see you. And they would too." 

"I, um- I will. Definitely."

When he hangs up, Nick is doing a terrible job of looking like he isn't worried about Harry's well-being. 

"Alright?" he asks, voice all aloof like he sometimes does on his podcasts. 

Harry nods, scoops the last of his crepe onto his fork and stuffs it in his mouth. "Of course. Hey, do you still want to go to Eva B? I need new boots."

"I guesssss," Nick sighs, as if it wasn't his idea to go there in the first place. "I'll get the bill, you child."

They walk up Maisonneuve after sorting out the tip, Nick's arm thrown over Harry's shoulders. Nick knows every single one of Harry's secrets and Harry loves him like he loves the sun, unthinking. 

Harry finds his boots, cosmic silver cool, and when Nick tries on a beer helmet Harry laughs so hard he has to sit down. 

*

"Hey," Niall says, as he pulls open the front door. "You made it."

He goes to give Harry a hug but hesitates, like he's not sure exactly how to do this. At the last second Niall pulls Harry in with a hand to his arm, kissing the side of his face at the same time. Harry can't help but laugh. 

Niall's place is significantly cleaner than the last time Harry visited. The shoes are in a tight line across the hall and it smells like Windex over the resting weed. Over Niall's shoulder the kitchen is lit in a warm light. Harry catches Niall's eye, looks down at their socked feet. He feels stupid for not wearing a nicer shirt. 

"Whatever you're making smells amazing."

"Thanks," Niall says, shepherding him into the kitchen. "Hope you like quesadillas."

"Love them. Is that a tablecloth?" 

Niall's face turns as red as the tartan cloth over the table. "I don't know. Yes. Um. Zayn's mom gave it to us for Christmas last year. We bring it out when Sophia comes over."

"Wow." Harry likes fucking around on Mario Kart and drinking with the boys, but he kind of likes being in Sophia territory too. "I'm honoured."

"You should be, it took an hour to vacuum this place. I found a dust bunny the size of New Brunswick under Louis' bed." Harry laughs. "Wine?"

"Please." 

"It was eight dollars at Provigo."

"You really know how to make a boy feel special." Harry takes the wineglass Niall hands to him, raises his eyebrow at Niall's own mug. 

"We only own one. We used to have two but Zayn is really clumsy when he's drunk."

"Well, thank you."

Niall smiles, gives Harry a look like how he did before he kissed Harry outside his apartment the other night. "Of course."

They're careful not to mark the tablecloth as they eat, knees getting friendly under the table. Niall chews politely, a paper towel over one knee, and it makes Harry feel ridiculous with his own big mouth and big bites. 

"Went to New York on a school trip once," Niall says, later, when there's only a bit of salsa on each of their plates. "We got these tickets to go to the top of the Rockefeller Center, right? But when we got up there it was foggy as shit. Couldn't see a thing. And it was quiet too, like the city had stopped existing while we were in the elevator."

"Spooky."

"Mm. More wine?"

"I'm okay." Harry smiles, looks out the kitchen window. He can see straight across to the other side of the road, where an elderly woman is walking with a trolley. "I miss fog."

"You miss a lot of things."

Niall's face is kind and so handsome. Harry bites on his lip before he says anything real.

"Need help cleaning up?"

"Nah, I'll get it tomorrow."

"Really, I don't mind. I'll wash, you dry?"

They knock hips together at the sink as Harry runs water over the cheap plastic cutting board, stained red with tomato juice. Niall scrolls through his phone and sticks it into a bowl on top of the microwave. 

The piano intro of _The Last Resort_ plays out a second later. Harry's spine shivers.

"God, this song."

"I know."

"It's perfect."

"Perfect."

Niall's eye catches Harry's and it leaves his lungs grasping a bit, the light there. It doesn't feel right that they've only known each other for a week. 

Zayn comes home as the last plate is laid to rest in the cupboard. He kicks off his boots loudly before entering the kitchen, untangling headphones with nimble fingers: "Did you eat already? Oh, hey Harry. Is Liam coming over too?"

"Li's back home, hanging with his Greenfield Park bros," Niall says, casual, leaning his hip up near Harry's against the counter. "We were just going to watch a movie or something."

"Oh, Desy and his roommates are coming over in a minute to smoke," Zayn says, sticking his head in the fridge. He re-emerges with a pot of yogurt. "You can join us?"

Niall speaks before Harry can shake his head furiously - "Think we'll just watch the movie in my room. Have fun, though."

Zayn is already trailing out of the kitchen, plopping himself onto the futon. "Will do."

They wait for him to switch on the Xbox before Niall is crowding into Harry's space, eyes closed like it's painful to have them open. "I swear to god, I told him you were coming over. He's just the least observant person on the planet."

Harry laughs, watches Niall's eyes open. "You even brought out the tablecloth."

"He's an idiot." Niall loops his hand around Harry's wrist. "Now's as good a time as any for the grand tour, though."

The grand tour is mostly a quick walk past Louis and Zayn's closed doors, with a peek into the bathroom that Harry's already seen, and then they're on Niall's bed. 

His room is small and clean. A white desk covers one wall, a laptop humming under a Pixar-esque lamp. A stack of textbooks that make Harry sympathetic just to look at are under a small, sweet night table with an alarm clock. 

"I like your afghan."

"Thanks, my Nana knit it." 

Harry gets cosy up against Niall's pillows while Niall untangles his laptop from its home surrounded by cords. He closes the door before he comes back, sliding his laptop over both of their knees. 

Harry hooks his foot over Niall's. "What are we watching?"

"I don't mind." Niall puts a hand on Harry's thigh, thumb sliding over jean. Harry grabs it instead, sliding their fingers together. 

"I haven't seen _Monsters Inc_ in a while," Harry says, after a minute. Niall's not even looking at the screen anymore, keeps stroking Harry's fingers with his own. It feels - too good. Like it can't possibly last. 

They make it to Mike waking up Sully before Niall's arm has found its way around Harry's waist. Then the little kisses start, slow, dragging up and down Harry's neck. He hums between each one and the vibrations make Harry feel like he's being taken apart, one cell at a time. 

"You smell like oranges," Niall says, nose up behind Harry's ear, the fingers of his left hand carded through Harry's curls. 

"New shampoo." Harry's eyes stay on the film. 

Another kiss, this time at Harry's chin. His toes curl up. 

One more. Niall's mouth pulls at Harry's bottom lip, his tongue brushes over it. Harry feels his eyes slide shut. 

Harry can just hear Mike Wazowski over the rushing in his ears. Niall is pushing him back, lying him out over the pillows and hovering over him. He pulls back slow, his fingers still curled into Harry's hair, lips wet and red.

"Do you mind if I stop the movie?"

A rough laugh makes its way out of Harry's mouth. "What movie?" 

Niall puts his laptop on the ground and climbs over Harry, arms bracketing either side of his face. He's warm, soft, god, it's nice to lie under him like this. Niall's lips are quick and his tongue is clever, licking up under Harry's and pressing sweet fairy kisses to the soft spots on Harry's neck. 

He could do this forever, probably. 

Niall's hands travel, skim down Harry's hips and around to cup his face. He leans onto his right elbow to get a hand free, touches Harry's stomach under his shirt. 

"Mm," Harry says, lost in it. His own hands stay warm around the side of Niall's neck, his face, his hair. It's softer than he thought it would be but not soft enough. Harry makes a mental note to lend Niall his hair mask sometime. 

Stroking over his belly button, Niall's thumb tickles over the trail of hair on Harry's stomach, slides over to draw a line over Harry's hips. Goes back to the trail of hair. Then back to his hip.

Harry's eyes blink open when he feels the hand dip lower, Niall's hand testing out the snug waistband of his jeans. 

"So gorgeous," Niall mutters, biting over Harry's top lip before running his tongue over it again. Two fingers dart into Harry's jeans, retreat, come back to stay. Through it all Niall keeps kissing him, kissing at the side of his mouth and his cheekbones, his eyelids. 

But then Harry feels the button of his jeans pop open, and he slides a hand to Niall's chest, pushes him back. 

Breathing heavy, Niall leans back. His hand is still tugging down Harry's zipper. "You okay?"

Harry smiles. He takes his hand off Niall's chest and bring it to where Niall's fingers have started to pet softly between his spread legs.

Their fingers slot together. Harry tugs them up to his chin. "I'm okay."

Niall blinks. Grins. "Sorry. You're just- really hot. We don't have to- we can like. We can finish the movie."

"No, I want to kiss some more," Harry says. 

The pit of Harry's stomach where monsters go to hide goes tense, ready. But Niall just smiles wider, ducks down to press his mouth at Harry's nose.

"Good," Niall says, sliding his lips down further. Their smiles press together. "Because your mouth was made to be kissed, Harry."

He keeps his hands to Harry's stomach. Harry licks the back of Niall's left ear, giggles when Niall laughs. And when Niall walks him home two hours later, Harry feels like he's floating. 

*

Two days later, Harry runs right into Louis while leaving a bakery outside the Gay Village. 

Louis isn't alone. 

"Your hair's too long," says the little girl with pigtails holding Louis' left hand. "Doesn't it get caught in your coat zipper in the winter?" 

"Um." 

"Heard you had quite the night in with our Niall," Louis says, doing complicated eyebrows. It's particularly impressive because he has a butterfly painted onto his cheek. 

Harry wonders if Niall told Louis they didn't have sex. 

"It was nice," Harry says, almost wincing. _Nice_ , fuck. "Great, I mean."

"Great, huh?" Louis says, doing his eyebrow waggle again. He winks, over the top, and Harry can feel a blush spread all over his body, up between his toes. "Zayn said you two stayed in Niall's room for like, hours."

"It wasn't that long-"

"I heard it was."

Harry opens his mouth to protest when- "Can I get a brownie?"

Louis shakes his head at the little girl still tugging absentmindedly at his hand. She's looking into the bakery shop window. "What did you just eat, Edith?"

Toeing one sandal on the pavement and ducking her face down, Edith mutters, "Bubblegum ice cream with sprinkles."

"And what's Mum's rule about desserts?" 

Harry can barely hear her: "I'm only allowed one."

"There are healthy brownies, you know," Harry says, without really realizing he's doing it. "Like, they exist. My friend used to run cross-country so I made her brownies that aren't so bad for you."

Louis blinks at him. Edith blinks at him too. 

"They're made out of vegetables," Harry says, blinking a little bit so he's not left out. 

"Yuck."

"How the f- flip flop do you know how to make vegetable brownies, Harold?"

"I used to be a baker. And um," Harry looks behind him, at the bakery he's just left. "I might be again. Maybe. I mean, I gave them my CV so." 

Another round of blinking. Then Louis-

"Do you want to go to Parc La Fontaine with us?" 

And yeah, he does. 

Harry makes them stop by the grocery store on their way, so he can buy a bag of frozen peas to feed the ducks with. He tells little Edith about how his mother used to tell him bread expands in a duck's tummy, and makes them feel ill. He's not sure if that's true, but Edith goes all big eyed at it. She smooshes her face in his knee and asks if she can have her own bag. 

It's late when they leave the park, restaurant patios filled with drunk French women with high, tinkling laughs and kind eyes. Edith is tuckered out, blowing snore bubbles onto Harry's shoulder as he follows Louis down onto the metro. 

It's a quiet trip back once they've lost Edith to her Westmount house. Louis lights a cigarette, then moves down wind so he doesn't force Harry into an asthma attack. 

"Kale brownies?" Louis asks after a long period of silence. They're almost at McGill's main gates now. Harry resists the urge to check the time and see if his favourite bookstore is still open.

"They actually taste really good."

Louis looks at him. He's all big brother, from his wiry, sharp shoulders to the squint of his eyes. Harry's seen Louis grin at Niall like he would stab anyone who crossed him. Harry doesn't know how to tell Louis' squint that he'd rather go to Kailey's wedding tomorrow and see everyone he left behind, than hurt Niall. 

"Do you think we could change the kale to a different leafy plant?" Louis asks, voice all slow like he's opening a door. 

There might be sharp rocks on the other side of the door. Oh well. "I suppose. In theory. It's a very versatile recipe."

"Hm," Louis says. He drops his cigarette, stamps it under one foot. "You might just work out after all, Curly."

*

They're making out when Niall mumbles the question against Harry's throat: "Wanna stay over tonight?" 

Harry ended up following Louis back to his, only stopping by at Supermarché to pick up a bottle of spaghetti sauce and a package of ground beef. The whole clan was in when Louis shoved the front door open with his shoulder. Even Liam was lying across the futon, eyes looking up from GTA V to shoot them both a grin. 

"Harry!" Liam said, looking back to the game quickly. On the ground at Liam's shoulder, Zayn had his tongue stuck between two teeth. "You here for family dinner?" 

"Course he is," Louis said, jumping on top of Liam and trying to steal the controller. Liam hollered, kicking, and they both hit the floor, knocking Zayn sideways. 

In the cacophony, Harry felt a hand at his waist. "Hey. Wasn't expecting to see you tonight." 

"Is that-"

"It's great," Niall said, grinning. He linked his hand through Harry's and tugged on his fingers. "C'mon. They'll be hours yet."

And now they're here. Side by side on the bed, Niall's fingers all desperate around the bend in Harry's knee where it's hooked over Niall's hip. Harry's hands trying desperately not to tell too much with every careful thumb stroke. 

"What was that?"

"Do you want to stay over tonight?" Niall asks again, voice all soft. He presses a wet smooch on the bit of skin and blood and bone where Harry's neck meets his shoulder. God, Harry likes kissing Niall so much.

"Yes please," Harry says, because his mother raised him right. 

They kiss and kiss and kiss until Louis pounds on Niall's door a million times: "I know y'all are getting frisky in there, but Harry promised me garlic bread!" 

Niall laughs into Harry's mouth and it tickles all the way back to Harry's molars. "Never promise Louis a single thing, haven't I taught you anything?" 

"Your eyes look like March mornings," Harry says because he can't help himself. 

Niall smiles, all slow. "Stop English-majoring. We've got garlic bread to make."

All the boys have is white Wonderbread, so Harry pulls Niall with him to the bakery at the street corner to grab two ciabatta loaves. Harry makes conversation with the man behind the till while Niall pays, fetching toonies out of his back pocket because he's one of those guys who keeps spare change in their pockets. 

Harry likes him so much. 

The kitchen's crowded when they get back, Liam and Zayn stirring at the oven while Louis makes a nuisance of himself with the little speakers by the window. Niall tosses Harry a garlic bulb and he gets to work carefully mincing it up at the kitchen table with one of the shittiest knives he's ever met. Niall grates the cheese. 

And it's - it's kind of like something clicks in Harry's chest. Louis' playing a slow song off one of Adele's earlier records, trying to goad Zayn into dancing with him. Liam keeps snorting into his beer, peering his head into the noodles every once and awhile, emerging a little damp. Niall's laugh is like the sinking sun across the room, warming everything in its path. 

Afraid to English major or accidentally say something he'll regret, Harry keeps to his garlic, great belly laughs overtaking him at a moment's notice. He barters Louis into giving him _the best cereal bowl_ to mix the garlic with butter. It's annoying to navigate the straw sticking out of it - yes, a real actual straw bowl because Louis is five years old - but everything's worth it for the way Niall keeps shooting Harry these little looks, like maybe he's getting that same loose-tight feeling in his chest that Harry has. 

He's gotten the loose-tight feeling before at a kitchen table surrounded by a friend family; he hopes this one lasts the night.

"On this day," Louis says, putting his can of beer up to the sky. They follow. "Of the Weekly Family Dinner, I would like to make some special toasts."

"My food is getting cold."

"Zayn is not being mentioned in my toasts," Louis continues, "because he's a little shit."

"I am thankful for this meal," Liam says. "And also Sophia. And Sophia and my new apartment. And Harry being here for the first time."

Niall's hand slides over Harry's knee under the table. 

"Yes, Harry is fine," Louis says, longsufferingly. He switches his beer can between hands, and continues in his loud, awful voice. "But Weekly Family Dinner is about more than Harold, no matter how nice his hair is. It about honour. Tradition. Nobility. Digni-"

"Amen!" Niall calls, taking a big bite out of his garlic bread. 

The noodles are overcooked and the garlic bread comes out too crispy but it's the best meal Harry's had since leaving Tofino ten months ago. 

When they finish mopping up their plates with little bits of garlic bread, they stack them into the sink and Louis grabs the chips above the fridge. Liam races to get the comfiest spot on the futon, which quickly leads to a dogpile, which eventually calms itself into Harry trying to rub the cramps out of his tummy from laughing too hard on a spaghetti stomach. 

By the time Zayn gets the movie all set up the sun has fallen out of the sky and a dark blue remains. Harry sits between Niall's legs on the floor, and it may be no comfiest-futon-spot, but Niall's chest is warm and his fingers are soft through Harry's hair. 

"No matter how many times I watch this," Niall whispers, tickling the shell of Harry's ear, "I always get scared that they won't make it across in time."

On screen a young River Phoenix leads his friends across a railway bridge. If Harry turned his head a little bit he could feel Niall's heartbeat right up against his ear. He turns his head a little bit. 

The boys catcall when Niall pulls Harry up with a hand as the credits roll. Even Zayn, who fell asleep approximately eight seconds into Corey Feldman's first speech about friendship, and has been drooling into Liam's hoodie ever since.

Niall kisses him for hours and hours, it feels like, until everything is soft, until darkness creeps over the whole room, until Niall's hard against Harry's thigh, breathing out heavy over Harry's neck.

"Do you want to…" Niall starts, voice gone all rough and warm like a slow drive at dawn. His fingers are sliding across Harry's ribs, shirt pushed up around Harry's neck. 

"Um." It's hard to think when Niall's kissing the lovely spots under his ear. "I'm- I'm good. But like. You can."

Harry never claimed he was good with words. 

Niall makes a little confused noise but doesn't question it. He snatches Harry's hand from where it's dancing across Niall's neck, and brings it down to Niall's jeans, right up against where he's hard and wanting. 

And it's easy, really, to slide his hand in and stroke Niall until he comes, messy and apologetic, muttering into Harry's neck about being like a _fucking teenager_. He rocks against Harry's hand for a second and it's fine until it isn't, until it's just kind of hot and sticky and Harry feels suffocated under Niall for the first time since they started kissing. 

"Can you move?" Harry asks, quiet, and Niall groans but rolls off him, landing with a _flump!_ next to him. 

Harry stares at his hand. He wants to go wash it off, please. 

"Sorry," Niall says, looking up at the ceiling, a little smile at his mouth. "I don't usually come in like - five seconds. I promise. Really. Just- been a while. And you're like- a lot." 

"That's okay," Harry says, still staring at his hand. "Can, I, um-"

"Oh yeah, here-"

Hand cleaned from a wet wipe in Niall's backpack, they turn to face each other on the bed, faces close and lips still puffy. The rest of the house is quiet now, the boys gone to their rooms for the night. 

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

Niall's hand pushes a piece of hair behind Harry's ear. "I'm afraid I might cough up a hairball tomorrow."

Harry lets out a bark of laughter. They had to keep separating, earlier, because Harry's hair kept getting tangled in their mouths. 

"I could put it back next time."

"I like it out," Niall says, picking up a piece now. He holds it up, then drops the strands onto Harry's face, giggling. "You look like one of those fancy poodles. The kind they have at dog shows."

Harry would be an amazing fancy poodle. "Sometimes you're so charming I just can't stand it."

And yeah, maybe it would land better as a joke if Harry's voice hadn't gotten soft near the end. Because Niall's hand is sliding over Harry's hair, and his grin is sleepy and sweet. 

"Did you get the job?" Harry asks, a little while later, his eyes closed against Niall's fingers through his hair. It's been ages since someone's stroked his hair just right - maybe his mother at the hospital last June. 

"They called this morning," Niall says, voice so close it's almost in Harry's mouth. "I'll be serving drinks at someone's retirement party on Tuesday. Wanna come?"

"Depends. How rich is the retiree?" 

In the following kerfuffle, Niall reaching for the soft bits of Harry's hips to tickle, Harry's laugh bouncing off walls and out the window, there's a moment where Harry's over Niall, his hair a curtain of privacy, their mouths heaving. And it's- a lot. It feels like something Harry wants to hear in a song, played late at night with his phone over his heart. 

And then Niall moves to bite at Harry's shoulder and the moment is lost. 

*

Harry's almost asleep when Niall says it.

"Hm?"

"I said, do you want to go get bagels?"

The soft cotton of Niall's t-shirt brushes against Harry's face as he moves to catch Niall's eye. It smiles back at him. "It's two in the morning."

"So?"

It's cool outside. Harry holds one of Niall's old hoodies around himself; the zipper's broken and the crest at the chest with _Victoria Park_ on it has started to curl up at one corner. Niall's left hand comes to greet Harry's right and they link fingers to make the short walk to Fairmounts. 

A group of teenage girls passes by, shouting maniacal French into the night. Niall pulls at Harry's hand. "Do you miss the ocean?"

"Yeah."

"I can't imagine you anywhere but here," Niall says.

And well - Harry's gone backwards on Niall's facebook photos before. There's an obscene amount of pictures of Niall in rented suits, girls with satin grade 8 grad dresses on either side of him, the ROM behind them. Even after giggling at Niall's ninth grade braces, Harry still can't imagine a Niall that isn't 21 and exhausted. He can't imagine Niall not here, on the wrong side of midnight, wandering down Clark. 

"Always wanted to see the Pacific."

"You're welcome to visit."

"Oh yeah?"

It's just there - Niall's shoulder - so Harry kisses it. Niall laughs. 

Fairmounts shines orange and open on the quieting street. Niall lets Harry slip past first and they stand in the small queue area while the woman behind the register taps her long, glittering nails against the countertop. There's only one other person in the store: a man in the back shaping a huge slab of dough into perfect rings. 

They get three sesame, two poppy seed, and a single garlic. Harry holds the brown paper bag in his arms on the walk back, stuffing his nose into it to smell.

"Whole house is going to smell like garlic now. Louis'll have a fit."

"Louis can stuff it."

Streetlights provide the map home. It's barely a walk at all, just a few silent houses and cold fences before they're at Niall's rickety staircase. They don't go inside yet. Their toes aren't cold enough to slide into the covers and Harry doesn't want to let go of Niall's hand. 

"When I first moved here, this is what I thought it would always be like," Niall says, eyes up to the black sky. "Bagel runs at 3am. I didn't think I would sleep for a year."

"That would be an awful lot of bagels."

Niall leans over, bites at Harry's cheek. His whisper comes hot against Harry's giggling mouth: "You know what I meant."

"Yeah." Harry whispers back, pressing the word into Niall's bottom lip. He pulls back enough to look up at Niall's sky. Kisses dot across his throat, waiting. Patient.

"It's all sky back home," Harry says after a minute. "And mountains. And water. It's all water. It always throws me here, when you complain about the rain, but don't mind the snow. My mother says it rained for a week after I was born. I miss it. More than anything else, I think, I miss the rain."

Harry noses his way back to Niall's lips. They're warm and sweet. They taste like a smile. 

"There was only one beach," Harry says, feeling his eyes close as Niall's hand goes deep into his hair. He breathes the words out against Niall's chin. "And one school. And one really good burger place. And there's so much here and I haven't even started seeing it all and it's so much-"

"Tomorrow."

"Hm?" Harry lets Niall kiss his mouth awhile longer before posing the question again. "Tomorrow?"

"We can start exploring," Niall says. He backs up enough to look at Harry, down to his lips, then back to his eyes. "If you want."

Harry doesn't say what he wants to say: _think I want everything with you_. Instead he lets himself be pulled up to his feet and through the front door, lets himself be dragged onto sweaty sheets. They kiss for so long Harry's mouth forgets how to be alone. Sleep takes them as they curl together, Niall's fingers in Harry's hand, Harry's swollen mouth against the beat in Niall's throat. 

*

"Where's the last of the orange juice?"

"In my cup," Harry says around a sesame bagel, one eye on the dolphin documentary he's trying to get through. "You want some?"

Matty lumbers over, takes a sip. His face screws up like a cartoon character. Harry laughs.

"Fuck that, I'm going to Starbucks." 

"Quite the brand name for you there."

"Oh fuck off."

Harry grins, bites into his bagel. There's a stream of butter rolling down his thumb and he catches it with his tongue. 

This morning Harry woke up with an arm around his tummy, a nose all cozied up under his chin. Niall was soft in sleep, cuddly like one of Amy's cats from back home - Roger, not Arnold - and so like, manly. The stubble across his chin kept rubbing on Harry's neck and Harry can still feel it, even now, after a morning kiss and a walk home in last night's jeans. 

"You hanging out with your boy today?" Matty asks, scratching at his stomach as he slouches into the chair across from Harry. 

Harry shakes his head. "He's helping my friend Liam move."

"Ah right," Matty says, closing his eyes. "It's fucking July 1st isn't it?"

Matty's pretty like this - quiet with his eyes shut. Harry tries to imagine Matty meeting Niall and the rest of the boys, but it's a funny image. He can't quite picture Liam and Louis in one of Matty's St. Laurent black lipstick wallpapered bathroom bars. 

Harry reaches across the table to pat one of Matty's curls, watching it spring back. He wishes his own hair had more pizazz some days. "I think the girl downstairs has already started. The moving truck is so tall it's blocking the sunlight in our room."

A noise like the kind dying rodents might make rips its way out of Matty's throat. "Okay. New plan. We don't leave. We stay here all day and order in and watch every episode of that fucking show you like."

" _Black Adder_?"

"Sure."

"It's gonna take like, eighteen hours for food to get here."

"Well Harry," Matty says, eyes all drowsy and tired. "We're just going to have to deal with that, aren't we?"

It was a listing that brought them together; Matty, the kid who couldn't afford his one bedroom apartment and wanted to drop out of the McGill music program, and Harry who was running, running too fast, and needed someone new to smile at. They met at a cafe in between two strip clubs on St. Catharines. Matty said he played his music too loud. Harry said he snored. He moved in an hour later. 

"We'll run down to the Dep and get one of those frozen pizzas you like, okay?"

Matty raises his head, cups his chin in one hand. "And wine?"

"Sure, honey."

They do spend the day like that, smushed together in their double bed, Rowan Atkinson in numerous silly hats on Matty's laptop screen. Their hair gets tangled together at one point, and Matty falls asleep on Harry and pizza sauce drips onto his sweat pants but it's good. 

It's nice to be next to someone who hasn't known him forever or wasn't there at Jake's cabin last May or doesn't want to fuck him.

It's nice and it feels like a kind of home, the kind of home Harry's been scared of for awhile, and maybe that's what it's all for. All of the little patters of his heart when he gets another text from Niall about how he's _gonna fucking kill liam_ , maybe it's all just to tell Harry that it's okay.

That he's allowed to want this. 

*

The day after the entire city of Montreal moves house, Niall takes Harry to a vegan cafe across the street from his favourite bar (a really cozy looking place called _Grumpy's_ whose pints are $5). 

They gobble their chilis down and then Harry stares into Niall's eyes for what feels like hours while Niall tells him all about growing up in a big city and how his fourth grade class used to have field trips to farms along Lake Ontario so they would be exposed to nature. 

"What about you, though?" Niall asks, after he's finished explaining his dad's job at the butcher shop down the road from their little Cabbagetown house. "What do your parents do?"

Harry fiddles with his spoon. "Um. My dad like- lives in Edmonton. He works for this oil company, so he travels a lot. And my mom has an um. An inn? They used to run it together but then he. Well."

"I didn't realize they were divorced, sorry," Niall says, looking like he genuinely is. "Did you like growing up in an inn?"

"I guess so," Harry says. He kind of wishes they could go back to talking about Cabbagetown and Bobby Horan and the facepaint Niall would slather on himself for Argonaut games. 

"Were you like Zach and Cody?"

"Why was there ever a cruise version of that show?" Harry asks, reaching out to play with Niall's funny pale fingers. There are calluses at the tips, though Niall hasn't had time to play guitar since Christmas break (he says). "Why did we, as a society, let that happen?"

Niall laughs and laughs and then they're scrambling out of the cafe to take a walk, holding hands and walking too close and being so so annoying. Harry loves it. 

When the sun starts its downward descent, they take the green line from Place Des Arts to Liam's. The train comes in fast, blowing the hair across Harry's face, it's wheels squeaking against the tracks as it skids to a stop. The doors open half a second before it completely stops and a flock of people come out, bumping elbows and squawking. 

Niall bundles Harry into the corner of the car and puts his face up close to Harry's shoulder. Niall is used to the TTC and its big trains, but even more he hates small spaces. Harry doesn't mind. He stays extra still, a rock against the natural sway of the subway. 

A girl in a sundress meets Harry's eye, looks at Niall's hand around Harry's wrist, and smiles, big. 

A crowd gets off at Peel. Niall peels his face from Harry's skin but he doesn't go too far. "Can't say I'm a big fan of these metal trains of death."

"We're almost there," Harry says, looking at the map on the wall. There's an anarchy sticker that covers the entirety of the yellow line. 

Niall doesn't loosen his hand until they step off the train and onto Atwater's station. It's all white and big, Atwater, with big posters of the new iPhone on either side of the stairwell. Harry looks along the white and grey columns as Niall pulls at his fingers, sliding rings up and down. 

After ten minutes wandering through (getting lost in) Alexis Nihon mall, and they're back into the retreating sunset, blocked by the old Forum. Liam's new place is up up up in one of the apartment blocks that have always reminded Harry of Vancouver. God, he hates Vancouver. 

"Fourteenth floor."

"Ugh, fourteenth?" Harry pouts out his bottom lip, cranes his head back to try and see the lightning rod top of the building. "Matty told me once that he would rather be beaten to death with a whisk than live in one of these apartments."

Niall raises his eyebrows. "Wow."

"He's very intense sometimes."

"No shit."

The elevator is small and creaky with a big yellow French sign that Harry tries to figure out. He makes out the words _dangereux_ and _code d'incendie_ before he gives up. Grey motel hall walls lead them to number 1405. There's a friendly welcome mat with a ginger cat on under their feet. Harry smiles at it, and Niall smiles at Harry. 

Liam and Sophia's place is very - Liam and Sophia. There is Ikea art on the walls and Ikea bookshelves on either side of the television, and lopsided frames of family photos fucking everywhere. Harry spots Liam with Mickey Mouse ears, Liam in front of the Big Nickel, the Chateau-Frontenac, the Maid of the Mist, before Niall grabs his elbow and pulls him into the kitchen. 

All the usual suspects are there, including a few new ones. Harry meets an Andy who has a face like a meerkat and a Jonathan in a football jersey and a never ending parade of beautiful girls who circle around Sophia with kind smiles. 

Harry before everything that happened - god over a year ago now - would be right in the fray of it, smiling and laughing and absorbing people's hands on him like a fish to water. Now he stays quiet near Niall's elbow, smiles with his dimples when someone coos at their hands clasped together. 

"Don't think I've seen Niall this happy in ages," says a brunette who used to date Louis. Her face is shaped like a heart, her smile like a dangerous but beautiful tiger. 

Harry doesn't know what to say to that. So he swills his water around once in its glass and goes to find Liam. 

Liam is presiding over the raggedy card table that looks like it must have belonged to his grandpa. He appears to be losing quite badly to a pair of Sophia's friends, their cups still in the classic triangle. 

"Harold!" Liam calls in Harry's ear because he's a bit shit. "Harold, I'm not Niall. Niall's on the balcony."

"I know you're not Niall, Liam. I have eyeballs."

"You should go see him," Liam says, widening his own eyeballs and staring deeply into Harry's. "He was looking for you earlier. I told him that you two are not allowed to fuck in my bed."

A familiar weight settles in Harry's gut. He can barely hear himself say back: "I don't think that's going to happen, Lee."

"Okay-" Liam burps. He looks surprised by his burp. 

Harry feels a hand at his waist from behind then, and turns to see Zayn sliding in next to them. "Hey, have you seen Lou? He's been missing since Eleanor came into the kitchen."

Harry shakes his head. Liam does the same, then reaches out to cup Harry's neck. 

"I was just telling Harry he isn't allowed to have sex with Niall in my bedroom," Liam says, slurring over his words a little bit. He's nodding wisely. 

For one of the first times ever, Harry would like to not be so close to Liam. 

Zayn laughs loud over Harry's heavy stomach. "What, like Niall did with Sarah in first year? Fuck, I forgot about that."

And that's his cue. 

Harry smiles his way out from under Liam's arm, through the crowded living room and out to the sliding doors to the balcony. He smiles so well that when he finally leans against the metal barrier and lets his smile drop it hurts, almost. 

"H!"

He turns. Sitting against the wall are the missing Louis and Niall. They're sharing a joint between them, and they both have sweet, soppy smiles across their faces. 

"Been looking for you," Niall says, patting the space next to him on the ground. 

"I can see that."

"Ahh, don't be like that."

Harry lowers himself down next to Niall, bending his knees to rest his toes on the metal barrier. When he looks over Niall is already smiling at him, reaching out to cup his hand around Harry's neck, thumb over his throat just like Liam had. 

"Enjoying the party?"

"Was just a bit too crowded," Harry says, looking down into his water glass. 

He can't quite wrap his head around the feeling in his gut. He knows it's not just jealousy, knows it's something else. A wanting.

"Are you feeling okay?" Niall asks, jutting his chin towards his glass of water. "When I left you, you seemed alright?"

"Mhm." Harry has a quick, mean thought, _Sarah wouldn't have a one-drink rule and she probably would have had sex with Niall on the first date_ , before he shakes himself. "I didn't know you smoked."

"He doesn't," Louis says, leaning over Niall to get all up in Harry's business. "Just the odd hit. Your lungs will be okay, young Styles."

Niall laughs, big and bright, and his thumb strokes down Harry's throat, more deliberate. Harry wonders what he would do if Niall started pressing down, trying to choke him. He's scared to think that he would let him. 

"I was thinking of getting out of here in a bit," Harry says, drawing a finger around the condensation along his glass. "Matty's staying over with his band tonight, so I have the place to myself."

Niall raises an eyebrow. Harry nods. 

"Fuck this," Louis says, taking a pull on his joint. His little paw hands are angry around the phone in his lap, even though Harry thinks that probably all of his contacts are in the apartment behind their backs. "You two are off in fucking Loveland and I can't even stay in the same room with the girl I dated for three fucking years."

He puts the joint out against the concrete next to his knee, face all furrowed and angry. Angry, angry Louis and his too big heart.

Harry reaches over Niall to drop his head in Louis' lap. It kind of feels like Louis needs it. Needs to be a big brother for a minute. 

Grumbling, Louis strokes Harry's hair while they watch darkness spread across the horizon and lights spring up like june bugs along downtown Montreal. The party's loud behind them but Harry hardly hears it over the muttered conversation above him, Niall's hand warm where it rests on Harry's tummy, holding him across Niall's lap. 

*

It's exactly like Harry to get reflective at a time like this, so he does. 

Niall's on him. The arm of the couch has pushed Harry's head back at an angle that stings, jutting his jugular out and making his neck shiver with stage fright. There's a hand around his left thigh, bringing it up to Niall's hip, and by the gasps in his hair, Niall is fond of his legs. He likes them wrapped around him. 

Which is nice. 

It feels nice like it felt nice when Niall kept ahold of him as they said their goodbyes at Liam's, one hand on Harry's hip like boyfriends do. Nice, like how it was nice when they got seats at the end of the train, Harry gone all sleepy against Niall's shoulder, and the elderly lady across from them smiling. 

It's - nice. 

Harry does like feeling Niall on top of him. He's warm and smiley, one of Harry's favourite people even though they've only known each other weeks. He has a deep set kindness in his grins and the kind of eyes Harry could spend his life looking at. He's fucking - he's nice. 

He's also really hard against the inside of Harry's thigh. 

It feels just like Matty's morning wood every morning in bed and that's the problem really - that Harry feels all gooey when Niall smiles at him but his dick is about as interesting to Harry as Matty's is, as interesting as sitting in the waiting room of the McGill admin building or filling up napkin dispensers in the inn's restaurant. It's not that he hates it or is scared of it, but he'd rather not. 

Niall's lips are sort of slobbery at his chin now, getting the little mole Harry has all wet. It feels funny so he laughs, and Niall laughs with him. 

"Sorry," he says all sweet and Niall. He goes back to Harry's chin, dips lower, skids his lips along Harry's neck which feels nice. It's nice. 

"It's okay," Harry says, though all he can think about is the fact that Niall's hard and Harry's not and he's probably not going to get hard and even if he does it still won't mean-

"Wanna take this to the bedroom?"

Harry's mouth tries and tries to make the sound he should make but instead - "Sure."

And then they're kissing again, across Matty's fancy goose down pillow his mom sent him. And then Niall is unbuttoning Harry's shirt off and kissing down his stomach and it's happening too quickly. 

"This okay?" Niall asks, hand at Harry's jeans. 

And the only image in Harry's head is the one he's made up of Sarah, beautiful and funny and kind and perfect and-

"Yeah," Harry whispers. "It's okay."

Niall peels Harry's jeans off his legs, leaving them inside out. Harry's always thought they look so vulnerable like that. Now they're lying on his floor with Niall's own jeans, oh and Niall's shirt and then his-

"Do you have condoms?" Niall asks, right into Harry's mouth.

No he doesn't but- "Um. In the drawer."

Niall puts one elbow up so he can reach across and- "Ow!"

"Sorry," Niall says, getting off his elbow and smoothing Harry's hair down. He looks so worried, big eyes cowed all prettily. "Didn't mean to yank your hair like that. Does it still hurt?"

Harry looks up at Niall. It would so easy to say it now. Instead he shakes his head, because he wants to feel Niall's chin scratching at his, and he's scared he might not get to. 

The first slick slide of Niall's fingers between his legs makes the hair on the back of Harry's head stand up. So he closes his eyes, turns his head so Niall's kisses skid down his cheek. 

It was Elliot, the last time someone was on him like this. Elliot with his kind smile and his quirky checkered pants and his obsession with little kisses on Harry's nose. They were together from March to May and the weekend at Jake's cabin in the mountains was their crescendo. It was the last time Harry saw him properly except at graduation but Harry was only there for a minute, couldn't stay because everyone kept whispering-

But, but-

Niall's kissing down his neck now and maybe it would feel good if Niall's fingers weren't tacky with lube against his thigh. Harry tries to ignore it, tries to enjoy the sweet way Niall's nose brushes against his cheek. He's panting in Harry's ear and god, Harry wants to stop and just be next to each other instead like before and-

There's a press against his hole from Niall's thumb and a voice in his ear, "Ready, babe?"

Harry opens his mouth to say yes but all that comes out is - "Stop."

It feels like a victory. 

Niall freezes immediately. His hips lift off of Harry.

"I don't want to," Harry whispers, like maybe if he says it quiet enough Niall will still want to kiss him. 

He doesn't have to say it twice. Niall rolls off. Harry can breathe again.

The only sound is the ceiling fan above their heads. It's fucking comical - the condom's rolled down Niall's length and he's still hard. 

"Are you okay?" Niall asks. "Did I hurt you?"

"No." Gemma is always telling Harry that he doesn't have to apologize for himself. He's not very good at it - "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it." Niall's still panting, face all flushed. He still has one hand cupped around his cock. "Are you- um. Do you want to do something else? We don't have to- I don't have to like, fuck you."

"Maybe," Harry says, quiet. The Sarah in his head is taunting him, but it's not just Sarah anymore, it's Louis and Elliot and Jake and Liam and- "Um - no. No, I don't want to do anything else."

"Do you want me to go?"

Yes, Harry thinks. 

"No," Harry says. "No, no, you can stay. I want you to stay."

Niall nods slowly. He looks down at his cock, flushes. "I'm going to um. Bathroom."

Harry watches him waddle out the room. It feels cooler with him gone. Harry flops back onto his pillow and bites his lip so hard his eyes water. 

The toilet flushes loud through the pipes. 

"Do you want a glass of water?" Niall calls from the kitchen a minute later. 

Harry wonders if Niall just jacked off in his bathroom. "No, thank you."

Niall comes back. His cock isn't hard anymore and he has one of Matty's mugs in his hand. "You  
okay?" he asks.

"Yeah." Harry bites the side of his cheek so he doesn't say sorry again. 

They get their boxers back on. Harry's ass is still wet with lube but he doesn't want to have a shower in case Niall leaves. They slide into bed together, over the covers because it's still hot as balls in here. 

"Are you really okay?" Niall asks, eyes drowsy. When he's on his side like this his hip creates a perfect slope and Harry wants to lick it. 

"It's not because of you," Harry says, looking at Niall's fingernails. They're cut into straight squares. Niall's hands are always clean and his room smells like pomegranate passion. "It's me."

"Are we going too fast?"

Harry looks away from Niall's fingers. Niall is so handsome it's stupid. He's old movie star handsome and Harry wants to fly with him somewhere, in one of those biplanes. He wants to lounge around one of those Hollywood lounges with him. He wants - 

"I don't want to have sex," he says. "With anyone."

It's not the first time he's said it. He practiced it out on Gemma when he was eighteen and two times over not a virgin. Two months later he told his mom while hopped up on the counter in the inn's kitchen, knocking his heels against the cupboards. They ate a plate of brownies together and she held his hand. 

But he's never said it to someone he's made out with on his couch at 2am. 

Niall's face goes into a careful blank. "You're asexual?"

The skin on his knee crawls. Harry nods. 

"Oh."

Somewhere in the city an ambulance screams. There's always an ambulance. 

"I'm really sorry," Niall says, after a very long minute.

Harry shakes his head. "No. No, you don't have to be sorry."

"I- you jacked me off like two days ago, I shouldn't have made you do that, I'm so sorry."

"You didn't make me, I wanted to."

"But you don't-" Niall stops himself. "I'm sorry. This is just taking a minute for me to process."

Harry tugs his knees up under his chin and tries not to look at Niall. A few hours ago they were riding the metro together, faces tucked in close and trying not to kiss each other. The only sound now is the ceiling fan, whirling and whirling. 

Harry clears his throat. "I'm not going to- I'm not going to apologise for not wanting to have sex."

"Of course not."

Their eyes meet. Harry really wants to fit his head in the space between Niall's ribs and his arm, have Niall keep him there until his toes stop fidgeting against the covers. He wants to hear Niall's heartbeat against his ear like when they were watching the movie and could that really have been only a few days ago?

"So were you like, faking it? The whole time?" Niall asks, blurts out really, and Harry's head snaps up.

"What?" He can feel his voice shaking under restraint. "I wasn't faking anything. I like you. I like kissing you. I like making you feel good I just- don't want to do that."

"Fuck, I'm-" Niall says, dropping his head in his hand. Harry waits for the _sorry_ but it doesn't come. Instead: "I'm not sober enough for this."

"I didn't think you drank that much at the party."

"Neither did I."

Looking up to the big water stain above the bed, Harry clears his throat around the lump that's suddenly found a home there. "You can leave. If you want to."

He looks down and Niall- oh fuck, Niall looks relieved. 

"I need some time," Niall says. "This isn't me running away."

And then Harry's seven years old again, head stuck between the bannisters at the inn, watching with Gemma next to him as their parents fought in the foyer beneath them. They really had to lean their heads out far because everything was so hushed - unwilling to wake the guests that cooed at Harry during breakfast while he entertained them with a song and dance. 

"It kind of, um." He looks at Niall, runs his eyes over his nice shoulders and his dimpled chin. "Kind of feels like you're running away."

"I don't know how to do this, like-" Niall licks at his lip. He doesn't really seem that drunk, but Harry doesn't know him very well. "Like, I- there's nothing wrong with you not wanting to have sex. And I still really like you Harry. But I've never. Sex is a part of it for me, you know? I'd be lying if I said it wasn't. I don't know how this is meant to- I don't know the rules."

Harry's toes stop playing with the sheets.

"I'll call you," Niall says, a minute later when he's jumped into his skinny jeans and buttoned his flannel again. "I swear I'll call you when there's like, not four cans of beer in my system."

Harry feels a laugh push against his mouth. It's damp around the edges. "That's what they all say."

With one hand on the side of Harry's face, Niall kisses the top of his head before he crosses the flat and shuts the door behind him. 

Shadows from the trees outside Harry's window shift against the summer breeze. Somewhere in the old building pipes gush water, creaking in the walls and makes the silence heavier. If he were to listen really closely to that silence he would be able to hear his own stomach twisting up in knots. 

Grabbing his inside out jeans from the floor, Harry finds his phone with shaky fingers. He presses the numbers from memory.

"Gem?" he asks, voice all croaky. It could be minutes or hours since Niall left. "I'm sorry. I know it's late."

He curls up, phone pressed tight against his ear, eyes shut like buttons. 

"Yeah, yeah I'm okay," he says, thinking about Niall's hand around his throat on the balcony of Liam's new place. "How are you? How's Boston?"

Harry falls asleep with his phone in his hand, his eyes gritty in sleep, and his heart bruised all over. 

*

Five o'clock mornings at the bakery don't feel much different from when he was a teenager with his first job. 

He can't see the ocean anymore, can't feel the cool spray coming from the pine trees or the warm chatter from the bustling tourists, but it's still just pink in the sky. The bread smells the same, even if Harry's different. Even if he didn't get to wake up with the dumb boy he likes. 

"So," his manager, Amelié, says as she shows him around for his first shift. He kept catches glimpses of himself in car windows on the walk to work, and hopes that big raccoon bags under his eyes aren't too unprofessional. "Today we'll have you mainly working the cash and observing Tony. There aren't too many complicated aspects of the job, and with your experience I'm sure you'll pick it up in no time."

Amelié is small, with hard working hands and a wicked French-Canadian accent. Harry likes her immediately. 

He spends most of the early hours of the morning piping swirling icing onto little cakes and pastries, handed to him on platters by Tony. Tony is a booming, smiley father of three little babies, who calls Harry _'Arry_ , and knows every single thing about the Montreal Canadiens. 

"They're going to regret trading Subban," Tony mutters, passing over a row of perfect mini apple tarts for Harry to dust with icing sugar. "I will tell you that much, 'Arry."

Busy hands don't make for a busy brain though, and by nine o'clock, Harry's alone at the front of the store, arranging pastries in the glass display case next to the till. 

While his fingers twiddle with the rows of colourful macarons, his head goes through every moment from the night before. Every stroke of Niall's fingers across his chin, and down his chest. Every time Niall laughed in his ear on the metro back to Harry's, one hand firm around Harry's upper thigh. And his hands, so tight when they pulled Harry closer as they kissed on the couch, like he wanted to climb inside Harry's body and make a home there. 

He goes back further, all the way to the first night in the kitchen, when everyone was just a friend of Liam's. Thinks about Niall's eyes trailing up his legs. 

And by the time he's off his shift and the afternoon sun is ripe with possibility, Harry's furious. 

The retirement party Niall is serving appetizers at is right near the central train station at Windsor Hotel. Harry walks the entire way there, anger fuelling his steps. He gets angry about once every six months, so furious he can't see straight, before it eventually simmers and goes away entirely. 

This doesn't feel like it's going away. 

"Excuse me," Harry says to the woman at the front desk whose nametag says _Valentine_. "Where are the kitchens? I'm looking for the catering staff."

"Most of the servers are in the ballroom, preparing for the event," she says, smiling. "Are you part of the staff?"

"My- um, my- fiancé- forgot her phone this morning," Harry says. He flashes his best smile, the one Elliot always said left him speechless. Valentine gets a similar disarmed look and easily points the way out. 

Niall is wrapping cutlery inside napkins when Harry approaches him. It's fun to watch shock and confusion ripple across his face, fingers fumbling over one of his perfect napkin rolls. 

"H," he says, voice low and eyes darting from side to side. "What are you- you really can't be here. Not because of our fight but my boss-"

"It won't take long," Harry says, voice calm. He used to cry and scream when he got angry as a kid but it was Gemma who taught him that being quiet and in control was so much scarier. "I just wanted to say something to you."

Niall looks wobbly around the eyes, nervous. Harry's never seen him like this. 

"You're an asshole for leaving my apartment because I didn't want to have sex with you," Harry says. He's been carrying the sentence with him since hanging up his apron but it still feels clunky, awkward on the way out. "And you're an asshole for only liking me because you thought you were going to fuck me. That makes you an asshole."

"I didn't-" Niall looks around. A redhead putting tablecloths over tables is giving them odd looks. "Can we please talk about this later? I have a break in an hour I could-"

"I don't want to talk about it later," Harry says. He digs his thumbnail into the side of his pointer finger. "I just needed to get that out. I'm good now. See you never."

"Woah-" Niall's fingers catch the curve of Harry's elbow. "Harry, I never said I wanted to-"

He stops, eyes on the side of Harry's face. They go all gentle in the middle. "You have flour on your cheek."

Harry's blush goes all the way around his neck and heats the roots of his hair. He can still feel anger like a second coat under his skin but Niall's gaze has made everything go a little blue in Harry's vision. 

"I didn't ask you out just because I wanted to fuck you, I- I thought you were smart and sweet and yeah, of course I wanted to- be with you like that. But that doesn't mean that's all I wanted. I mean, of course I wanted you, everyone wants you, fucking look at you."

Niall brandishes his hand at Harry, like Harry's forgotten about his skinny hips and big mouth. 

"Are you going to tell me my looks are wasted on me? Because I've gotten that before, thanks."

"Harry."

Niall slides his hands around both of Harry's elbows and tightens. Harry tries to pull away, mostly to see if Niall will let him. He doesn't. 

"I'm sorry I left last night," Niall says, breath heavy. "And I'm sorry that I didn't ask enough when we were doing stuff to know that you were uncomfortable. But you didn't tell me. And I'm allowed to take time and figure stuff out in my head."

Harry keeps his mouth shut. Niall swallows before:

"I wasn't really ready for a relationship talk so soon. I thought we were just having fun and then it's like- we had to sit down and talk about what was going on. And that kind of freaked me out."

Harry smiles, looks down at their toes. 

"Well you don't have to be scared of that conversation anymore," he says, hating the rough edges around his voice. "Bye, Niall."

This time there's no fight when Harry pulls his elbows away. 

*

With one hand keeping Harry to his side and the other holding an entire pitcher of beer, Louis's voice ricochets through Harry's brain:

"I'm telling you man," he says, burping loud enough for both of them. "Love sucks. It fucking sucks."

"I don't think we were in love," Harry says, turning to press his mouth at Louis' ear. "But we could have been, you know? And that's what really hurts." 

"Oh I know, Harold," says Louis, eyes narrowed like he's a pirate on the seven seas, searching desperately for land. "I know."

The sequence of events that led Harry out of Niall's fancy ballroom, onto his own couch, and now into a bar in the Mile-End with Louis is confusing. He was lying facedown on his couch, his simmering anger turned to helpless tears, when the buzzer to his door went. 

(How in the everloving fuck Louis found out where Harry lives is beyond him)

But they're here now and the music is loud and awful, bass setting the beat for Harry's heartbeat and vibrating through his head. A group of Louis' friends are here too, some vaguely recognizable from Liam's housewarming, but they're mostly up at the bar. 

"So why did things fall apart between you and Nialler anyways?" Louis asks, sipping at his pitcher, getting only a little down his shirt. "Was his favorite Eagles song not your favourite Eagles song? Did he try and make you eat something that wasn't fair trade?"

Harry bites at his straw. He doesn't usually go for cocktails but- today's an exception. "I don't know. I guess he got scared."

Louis nods. They both look out across the bar. It isn't packed yet, because it's a fucking Monday and it's barely nine. Harry watches some girls spin each other around, laughing, and before he loses the nerve:

"I'm asexual."

"What?" Louis' ear shoves itself in front of Harry's face. 

"I don't like having sex."

Louis pulls back, blinks at him a couple times. "That's weird."

Harry feels his face furrow, eyes narrowed. "No it isn't. How is it weird?"

"Because sex is great."

"Not for me."

Louis opens his mouth but stops himself. Harry doesn't know what his eyes are doing exactly, but something in them makes Louis say, "You're right. Sorry."

"It's okay."

Harry drains his cocktail, straw making that empty sucking noise as he makes sure he gets every last drop. When he's done from his recon mission, Louis is looking at him.

"C'mon," he says, sliding out of the booth and bringing Harry with him. "Let's go get another drink."

"I usually only have one, though-"

"Fuck that, your heart's broken." And Harry can't argue with that. "Besides, there's a guy at the bar who's been eying you since we walked in. I bet if you batted your eyelashes the right way you could get us both free drinks."

Harry laughs. 

His eyelashes get them not one but two free drinks each, big pints for Louis and more fruity, strong cocktails for Harry. It also gets them Scott to hang around with, a thirty-three year old mechanic who puts his arm around Harry halfway through drink two and leaves it there. 

Scott's jokes are funny and his smile is cute and Harry feels himself leaning in more and more, giggling into Scott's neck with every sip of his drink. He's not drunk enough to think that Scott wouldn't be doing this if he didn't think there was a chance of getting his dick sucked, but it's nice anyways. 

And if Harry keeps drinking this martini it's going to seem even nicer.

"Oi!" Harry looks over at Louis. Scott's whispering in his ear, something he lost the plot of ten minutes ago, and Louis' grinning wild. "Get up you, we're going to meet up with my friend at this new place on Saint-Denis."

"Oh," Harry says. He stand up and- oh, heads shouldn't feel like that should they? All swooping? "Can Scott come? He was telling me a funny story about um. Something."

Scott does come. He comes with them to the first place to meet Louis' friend, and then to the second place where they all get given glow bracelets at the door. He helps Harry up when he falls over a curb and Louis laughs his brains out. Scott stays with them until Harry's lost count of how many drinks he's had and where he is and has forgotten all about how he doesn't know Scott and doesn't really want him to kiss his neck.

It's hard to keep his head upright. It keeps slouching from side to side as Scott bites bruises along his throat, hands all around Harry likes he's a doll. His own hands are on either of Scott's shoulders, just resting there really. He can't remember putting them there.

"You're so fucking sexy," Scott mutters into his neck and oh, thank you.

"I don't feel good," Harry says, trying to centre himself. He would close his eyes but he doesn't trust himself not to fall asleep. And doesn't really trust Scott with himself, asleep. "My head is all like- spinny."

"I got something for that, babe," Scott says, pulling a little tin out of his jean pocket. It shines in the colourful lights of the club, highlights the twisting tattoos over Scott's arms. 

A second later Scott's mouth is on his and then whoop, there's a tongue in his mouth and oh, now there's something else in his mouth, a little pill that Scott's tongue pushes under Harry's own. Scott keeps kissing him but it's suffocating, nothing sweet or good about it-

"I need to find my friend," Harry hears himself say, everything gone too bright and blurry. 

"Nah, babe, come on, we'll go back to mine-"

"I don't want to," Harry says, pushing himself out of the booth. He only stumbles once. 

"Are you joking? You're seriously not coming home with me?"

Oh boy. Harry really knows how to pick them. "Sorry Scott, bye Scott."

And then Harry's pushing through crowds of hot, tattooed people, people with bright shirts and sexy grins, girls who try and pull him into their circle and boys who touch his hair. He keeps going until he finds Louis. His eyes are red and grinning and he looks a mess.

"Louis?" Harry asks, when he's close enough to be heard over the loud music. 

His whole body feels alight, like there's wires running through it. It doesn't feel like drunk anymore. It feels like maybe Harry should not have let a stranger give him a little pill.

"Yeah, Curly?"

"I think-" The whole world is spinning. It's really not great. "I think I'm going to throw up." 

*

The toilet seat is disgusting but cool under Harry's head. He would like to spend the rest of his life here, please. Maybe if he got some food brought to him periodically. Yes, that would work. That would be nice. 

The sloppy ponytail Louis did is slipping down onto the back of Harry's neck now, but he doesn't mind so much. It tickles. A nice tickle. Like how his mum tickled his toes when he was just small, warm in his onesie pajamas on Christmas Eve. 

Someone knocks on the door. 

Harry tries to open his mouth to say, _sorry it's occupied_ but it doesn't work. Louis stands to answer the door instead. 

"Oh thank god," Harry hears Louis say. 

"I'm going to fucking kill you," another voice says. Harry hiccups, then groans. Hiccups aren't good for him right now. Hurt too much. 

Then a pair of hands are at the back of his neck and they're cool, soft. They don't feel like Louis, and for a second Harry wonders if Scott is back. He hopes he isn't. 

"How are you feeling, love?" the person asks and oh. That's Niall. Niall isn't Scott. Niall is- good. 

"Sleepy," Harry mutters. The word burns on the way out, not helped by the acid still coating the back of Harry's throat when he, um. Emptied his stomach. A handful of times. "I'm going to live here."

"Are you now."

"Yeah. Never gonna move."

A shift behind him and then Niall is a lot closer, sat down next to him with his fingers in Harry's hair. He sighs quietly, like maybe he doesn't want Harry to hear it. "We don't have to move yet."

"I'm sorry that guy kissed me," Harry says. Oh, he could just fall asleep right here. He would like that. "I didn't really want him to. Wasn't thinking."

"You don't have to apologize," Niall says and then Harry falls asleep maybe, just for a minute or so. 

The next thing he's aware of is being lifted up between Niall and a skinny boy he recognizes from behind the bar. They hold him between them like a rag doll, elbows over their necks, and ohhh Harry's head is on fire. 

"Don't wanna move," Harry groans, as loud as he can as he's taken through the back exit of the club. "Wanna live in the toilets. Spend my whole life there. Raise the grandchildren."

"He always this weird when he's drunk?" the bartender asks, which Harry finds insulting. 

"I don't know," Niall says. His hand feels so nice against Harry's waist. 

He spends the whole Uber trip lying across the backseat with his head in Niall's lap. Niall keeps promising the driver that Harry won't vomit, which is a bit too presumptuous maybe. Harry could go for a vomit, if he's honest.

"Sorry for being such a mess," Harry says when they're stopped behind traffic. The streetlights make Niall's face look so handsome when Harry opens his eyes, peers up. 

Niall smiles down at him so kindly. "It's okay. I'm just glad Louis called me. I mean I'm going to fucking kill him tomorrow for getting you like this in the first place but. Don't like to think about what might have happened if he hadn't."

"There's no snow outside," Harry says. "So it wouldn't have been that bad." 

"You're right," Niall says, laughing a little. "This would have been more difficult with snow."

Harry doesn't have fantastic use of his limbs at the minute, but he coaxes them into enough action to find Niall's hand. It's at Harry's shoulder, holding him onto the seats so he doesn't take a tumble. That's nice. He's nice. 

He puts Niall's hand in his hair. "Have you ever fallen asleep in a snowbank, Niall?"

"Can't say I have."

That's good. "It's really cold. Your hands turn blue and you think- you think you're never gonna be able to use them again. But you will, maybe. See!"

And he holds out his hand for Niall to see, wiggles it around. 

"Harry," Niall says, and now he sounds far away. Like they're both in a tunnel, but at either sides, and Harry is also wearing earmuffs. "What are you talking about, love? When did you fall asleep in a snowbank?"

"Elliot told me he really really liked me but then he didn't even go looking for me," Harry says, feeling himself go. It would be so nice just to close his eyes. Just let himself feel Niall's hand through his hair and nothing else. "No one did. I had to call my own- ambulance." 

"Harry-"

"You won't do that right?" Oh he's done now, he's out. "Even if I didn't- want to fuck you."

The rest of the night is flashes. He remembers Niall sliding him out of the car. He remembers stumbling up the steps and in through Niall's shitty college apartment. He remembers Zayn's sleepy face and an _oh shit_ and then-

Then being dropped onto Niall's bed. Someone tugging his pants off. His own mouth saying _no, no, no, no_ before Niall pushed back his hair and said _no, baby, just to sleep_. Niall kissing his forehead. Niall pulling a blanket over him. Niall curling his arm around Harry's side. 

Niallniallniallniall and then darkness. 

*

Harry wakes up first, stomach empty and head pounding. He can't quite figure out where he is or what time it is, but he knows he should be embarrassed about something. This is especially confirmed when he looks to the right and sees Niall, tuckered out on his stomach, face so pretty in sleep. 

He sneaks off to the bathroom and pees for a long time. He downs three glasses of water with the cup that holds the boys' toothbrushes, then tries to open the mouthwash. It's one of those press and turn things, so that takes awhile. But after a swirl he feels eighty-eight percent more human. 

Niall's bed is warm when he sinks back in, so he stays there, staring at Niall, watching him wake up. 

"You know it's creepy when you do that," Niall says in a hoarse voice, twelve minutes later.

"That has never been said to me before."

Niall smiles into his pillow.

"I'm sorry you had to go rescue me last night," Harry says, sliding closer to Niall. Niall's hand slides out to meet him, tucks into his waist and drags him in until they're sharing the same pillow. "That's not fair to you."

"I'm sorry I left you the other night," Niall says. He opens his eyes, looks at Harry's mouth. "That's wasn't fair of me. To make you feel like there was something wrong with you."

Harry wants to kiss him, so he does. Even though he probably shouldn't. Even though things don't feel as solid as they did a few days ago. 

Niall's breath is warm against Harry's face when he pulls back. "Someone else made you feel like that, didn't they? When you were younger? You mentioned, last night."

"I hate Drunk Harry."

"H," Niall says and oh. It doesn't appear to be the morning for jokes. 

"It's not- um. Elliot, he was this guy I was seeing, back home. We went to school together? And we had this weekend at my friend Jake's cabin, and it was in the middle of nowhere, up in the mountains." Harry licks his lip. He really really doesn't want to stop because if he stops he'll never start again. "It's always winter up there. So we went skiing and then he told me he thought he was in love with me? And then I tried to tell him I didn't want to- and um."

Niall's fingers stroke over his eyebrow. His face is blank and quiet.

"I got really fucked up," Harry whispers. "Like, we had taken some stuff. And then he told me to- well, I left. Fell asleep outside. My- friends didn't notice."

"Harry-"

"When the ambulance came they were like, making breakfast."

Relief doesn't flood him. It's not a weight lifting. It's just Harry, in bed, with the boy he likes, a big dark storm cloud above them. 

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," Niall whispers and it breaks Harry's heart. 

"It's not so bad when I say it in one big chunk like that," Harry says, rubbing his thumb over Niall's chin. "It's just. Difficult, when all the people you grew up with are kind of shit. And then visit you in the hospital like nothing happened."

Niall brings him in closer by the back of the neck and rubs their noses together. It makes Harry laugh, even though he's kind of going through something. 

"I missed you," Harry says, a little warmth spreading in his chest now that they're not talking about his hometown and dumb people and events he can't change. "It's stupid because it hasn't even been that long since I, um, broke into your job. How did that go, by the way?"

"It was okay," Niall says. He bites his lip. "I mean, I would rather you didn't break into my job again? Because it kind of threw me off for the rest of the day but-"

"I'm so sorry about that," Harry says, a little weight in his stomach. He wishes he could fish it out to show Niall how bad he feels. "I meant a lot of what I said but it wasn't really fair to do that to you when you were on your first shift."

"Nah. But I said a lot of shit to you so. I think we're equal."

Harry wiggles his head closer to Niall so they can kiss some more. Niall taste like stale cookies and mornings and kind of gross, really, but Harry's gargle with the mouthwash is enough for both of them. 

"You have a good time at the bakery?"

"Mmm, can you just kiss me now?"

Niall's a very very good listener so they kiss until Harry's head doesn't feel like it hurts anymore and Niall's mouth tastes like mouthwash. They kiss and kiss and Niall's hands stay on his face the whole time which is nice but-

"You can touch me," Harry whispers, licking out to draw a line across Niall's ear lobe. "I mean I know I'm still pretty gross from the whole, sitting in a toilet cubicle but. Oh and there might be vomit in my hair. Oh god I almost forgot about that."

"I scored me some prize with you, eh?" Niall asks, soft, nosing over Harry's cheek. He touches Harry's smile with his fingers. "I didn't know, last time, when you were uncomfortable. You didn't tell me. And I don't want you to feel like you can't tell me. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable around me."

"I don't want you to feel uncomfortable around me either," Harry says. He walks his fingers across Niall's face. "I like kissing you. I like it when you touch me."

Niall nods, slowly. "I can ask questions more."

"Sure."

"Harry, can I touch your leg?"

"Certainly." Niall brings his hand around Harry's knee, pulls it so it rests over Niall's hip. He draws little designs there, shucking the hair up backwards. "I should warn you though, it's probably going to fall asleep soon." 

"You're cute." Niall smiles, then scoots his hips in so they're pressed together all the way. Harry's toes reach out to greet Niall's toes. "What happens now?"

"First, I want another kiss," Harry says. Niall's the accommodating sort, so he gives him one. "Second, I need to borrow a towel and then drown myself in the shower. After I perish- I don't know. Want to grab brunch?"

"Universel serves breakfast until like- 5, or something ridiculous like that."

"Excellent. I shall spend all day dying in your bathroom."

"Harry, I don't want to ask this, because I'm not with you for sex. I'm really not. But it's still- a thing. For me."

Harry brings his hands up to Niall's face. It's such a good face, Niall's. So warm and rough. Harry thinks about all the stories Niall has told him, about Bobby's butchershop and his Toronto friends and their house on the corner, smackdab in the middle of Cabbagetown. 

"I'm not allergic to sex," Harry says, shrugging. He presses his mouth to Niall's chin because it's easier to talk there, even if his voice is smooshed a bit. "And I like making you happy, so. I'm sure we'll figure it out."

Harry feels Niall's hum through his skin. "I should get up and get you that towel, or we'll never leave."

"I like the sound of not leaving."

"And I like the sound of you cleaning the vomit out of your hair," Niall says, laughing.

*

Niall and his boys are in the kitchen when Harry emerges an hour later, hair towel-dried. He's wearing Niall's Concordia jersey, the grey soft one with maroon writing, and it looks right on him. Good. 

"Hiiii," he calls to the kitchen as he pads in, barefooted. Niall gives him a smile from where he's leaned against the counter, coffee mug in hand. Zayn waves from behind his copy of _White Teeth_. Louis drags his head off the kitchen table. He looks like actual death.

"Harry," he begins, his voice like velcro. "I am so sorry about last night-"

"Why don't you get some sleep," Harry says, smiling. "You can apologize to me when you can actually keep your eyes open for more than a second."

"See that's what I told Niall," Louis mutters, settling back with his head on the table. "But he insisted. Practically made me get in the shower with you…"

"Ready to go?" Niall asks, eyes all kind and smiley.

Harry pictures them leaving, taking Niall's stairs two at a time. Them in the streets, hand intertwined, noses getting sunburnt from the hot sun. Eating their weight in eggs and bacon and then going to the park maybe, or the lawns around McGill, reading a book together under a willow tree. And then going back to Harry's, kissing through a movie, kissing through dinner, kissing until they're both warm all the way to their toes. 

And maybe when Niall falls asleep Harry will sneak out, do some timezone math in his head, and call his mom back. Plan a flight home. 

But now there's just Niall's smile. So Harry smiles back. 

"I'm ready," he says.

**Author's Note:**

> i can be found @[butternutstyles](http://butternutstyles.tumblr.com/) for any comments, concerns, or questions regarding the absurd amount of canadianisms in this story.


End file.
